


A Million Little Fractures

by thisiswherethefishlives



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Agents of SHIELD: Friendship Is Magic, Angst, Canon Compliant as of Season 3, FitzSimmons BrOTP, Getting Together, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5007061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiswherethefishlives/pseuds/thisiswherethefishlives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He feels the warmth of Jemma’s words pressed into his skin long before the meaning registers. There’s a comfort to the way that her breath fans against his neck, something reminiscent of home and safety and completion.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I could love you, ” she says.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>With a smile on his lips, Fitz curls his fingers carefully into her hair, reveling in the rightness of the gesture and the silk of her curls.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I know,” he says, closing his eyes against the spark of joy that’s kicked off in his chest. It’s electric and fizzing… it’s everything that he’s hoped for… Fitz and Simmons together again.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>If he can feel the rigid coolness of the pocketknife from where it sticks from her grip… well, that’s something that they’ll work on.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Million Little Fractures

He feels the warmth of Jemma’s words pressed into his skin long before the meaning registers. There’s a comfort to the way that her breath fans against his neck, something reminiscent of home and safety and completion.

“I could love you, ” she says.

With a smile on his lips, Fitz curls his fingers carefully into her hair, reveling in the rightness of the gesture and the silk of her curls.

“I know,” he says, closing his eyes against the spark of joy that’s kicked off in his chest. It’s electric and fizzing… it’s everything that he’s hoped for… Fitz and Simmons together again.

If he can feel the rigid coolness of the pocketknife from where it sticks from her grip… well, that’s something that they’ll work on.

* * *

He wears the mantle of carer like the most holy of vestments, allows everything else to fall away until it’s just them. Just Fitz and Simmons. _Together_.

He’s the only one that gets close anymore, the only one that tries, and he _knows_ that it’s only a matter of time before he coaxes a smile from her precious face. Just like the pocket knife that she twirls between her fingers, it’s something that they’ll work on.

For the first time in a long time, Fitz is filled with purpose. He brought Jemma back from god-knows-where, and it was his faith and his unwavering love that did it. It was him.

* * *

There’s an ache just under the surface of Fitz’s chest that’s been growing - slow enough to be a nonissue but constant enough where he can’t quite forget that it’s there. It’s bigger than his body, familiar and foreign all at once, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of Jemma’s hand clasped in his.

There is no ache in this world that could distract from that fact.

Her hand is small and familiar, even with the calluses and scars that she earned during her time away. That’s what they call it now in the rare instances where it’s brought up at all. _Time away_ , as if she had been on vacation… as if it had been her choice… as if she would have ever wanted to-

The way that Jemma’s suddenly got his hand in a vice is, among other things, quite painful.

Of course, the thin half-smile that Mack shoots their way before heading back the way he came doesn’t make it any better… but then Jemma’s relaxing, tugging him forward towards the lab with a smile on her face and a hop in her step, and there’s no time to contemplate the disappointment that’s taken root.

* * *

Sometimes it feels like everything that’s happened to him, everything that’s warped him beyond recognition, has been leading up to this. After all, who else would understand a fraction of what Jemma’s feeling if not for Fitz?

* * *

They don’t talk about Jemma’s time away anymore. It’s only been a matter of months since she returned and already it’s something to be brushed under the rug along with every other ugly thing they’ve faced.

They don’t talk about the fact that Jemma came back different. Any time that he’s tried to tell her that it’s _okay_ to be different… well, he learned pretty quickly that the best he could expect from _that_ line of conversation is for her to shut down completely. Worst case scenario?

Well…they don’t talk about the knives that Jemma carries around with her and they certainly don’t talk about the anxious way that she carries herself around the newer members of the team, hands twitching towards the small pocket knife she keeps in her right-hand pocket every time she sees Mack or Bobbi around the Playground.

Needless to say, Fitz and Jemma mostly keep to themselves.

* * *

The thing that no one tells you about being someone else’s everything is that it doesn’t leave much space to support yourself.

It’s an unfair thought, one that he squashes down guiltily every time it pops up… because Fitz had asked for this. He had spent so much time searching for her, had dedicated so much of his life and energy and heart to getting her back… and _yes_ , it had been isolating, but he had always known that it would be worth it.

And she is. She’s always worth it.

Fitz will never regret what he gave up to get Jemma back. Not in a thousand years… but now that she’s back…

He’s _lonely_.

* * *

It’s become an unspoken rule that the lab is off limits to the rest of the team.

They’re all on tenterhooks around Jemma, none of them really knowing how to connect with her these days, and after the last altercation she had with an unwitting lab assistant it was deemed safer for everyone to give her space.

It all boils down to giving the two of them space, and as much as Fitz wants to be resentful he can see firsthand how much better Jemma does when it’s just them. It’s hard to be angry when she shoots him a cheeky grin from across the lab.

* * *

It starts with a text. A short, nothing string of three words that shouldn’t make his heart swell… aside from the fact that they do, but that’s not the problem.

No, the real problem is that Fitz has no idea how to respond. He could lie. He could tell the whole truth and nothing but, or something vaguely in between. He could make light of his loneliness or he could do something about it. Really, Fitz could reply in any of a number of ways, but the more he stares down at his phone the less any of it makes sense.

_You holding up?_

In the end, he never replies to Mack’s text.

* * *

“Mack invited me to lunch.”

It’s such a non sequitur from what they _had_ been talking about that Fitz can’t even begin to think of a response. Luckily, Jemma doesn’t seem to need one, taking a deep breath before forging on.

“It’s been months since I- well, since I came back, and maybe it’s time that I tried?”

She sounds so small in the moment, but there’s no knife clutched in her hand and she looks less haunted than she does nervous.

“Oh, um... did you want me to go with you?”

She doesn’t answer right away, takes a moment to take a deep breath before meeting his gaze head on. It’s a good look on her, something akin to the confidence she used to wear so easily before.

“No, Fitz. I think I’ll be okay.”

* * *

There are moments when Fitz gets a flash of the Jemma that he knew before. Vibrant and joyful as she chases a lead, the quirk of a smile when he takes her hand in his… always there for a second before being chased away by whatever it is that tracked her like prey.

For all that she’s safe now, Fitz can still see the hunted look in her eyes when she forgets herself. These days, it’s not so bad…she’s getting better.

He grips her fingers a little tighter before letting go.

* * *

After her first lunch with Mack it’s like a switch has been flipped.

While Jemma still spends most of her time with Fitz it’s broken up by lunches with Mack and movie nights with Bobbi and Skye, daily yoga sessions with May and long, meandering drives in Lola with Coulson.

Fitz finds it strange at first, having all this time to himself... but somehow he doesn't feel as lonely as he did before.

As Jemma's social circle slowly expands Fitz finds himself back in the thick of things with the rest of the team, and really... it's good to be back.

* * *

“You know, you never invited _me_ to lunch.”

From the way that Mack glances his way, it’s pretty clear that Fitz’s comment comes off a little less nonchalant than he had intended.

“I didn’t think you _needed_ an invite.”

Mack’s words rush into him like a freight train, and for not the first time, Fitz curses the way he flushes under Mack’s attention. There’s heat in his face and a flutter in his chest that feels a little like he’s going to be sick and a little like he’d never be happier than to stay forever under Mack’s gaze.

It’s a lot to process, and maybe the best time for this conversation _isn’t_ with a psycho shadow government organization storming the playground, but they don’t always get to wait for a better moment in their line of business.

Gunshots ricochet in the garage, percussive and violent even from this distance - it makes Fitz want to hide, makes him want to fight. The danger ties up everything that he’s feeling until there's nothing left but an overwhelming urge to kiss the daylights out of Mack before they inevitably die.

Mack, on the other hand, just shoulders his gun and grabs his axe off the wall before striding towards the action.

He's just out the door before he turns back to flash a cocky grin.

"Hey, Turbo? Just so you know, as far as I'm concerned, you're always welcome."

With a wink and a jaunty wave of his axe he's gone, and all Fitz can do is stare after him as the cacophony of battle rings in the hall.

* * *

He- _god_ , he usually doesn’t drink this much. He knows better, but one celebratory 'we survived' beer with the guys turned into a series of 'fuck those guys' shots, and he’s not drunk.

He’s _not_.

He’s just… he’s very tired, and Mack is a solid warmth pressed against his side that Fitz wants to sink into forever.

Mack murmurs something against the top of his head. Fitz doesn't hear what he says and doesn’t care enough to ask him to repeat what he said. None of it matters - not really - not at the crux of it, not when Mack smells so good. God, he smells like cinnamon and soap and Fitz wants to lick at his skin just to taste it, but then Mack’s standing up and carefully slinging Fitz over his shoulder.

That’s when the world starts to spin. It spins and it spins and it spins.

There are bubbles in Fitz’s veins, laughter stuck in his throat, and his head spins like crazy. He’s lost to the joy that’s in turn losing ground to exhaustion and god it’s been a long time since he felt like this.

“I missed you,” he breathes into the small of Mack’s back as the blood rushes to his head. “I missed you a lot.”

Mack doesn’t respond, but Fitz doesn’t have time to be disappointed because Mack’s stopped walking and has starting rooting through Fitz’s back pocket instead. It would all be very inappropriate if that weren’t where Fitz kept his keys.

From that point everything else blends together into a single amalgamation. The way that Mack lays him gently to bed slips into the tender way that Mack tucks him under the covers which fades into the darkness after Mack turns off the lights.

Fitz is basically asleep from the moment his head hits the pillow, but he doesn’t think he dreamed the wistful way that Mack said he missed him too.

* * *

During one of the rare lunches that Jemma doesn’t spend with Mack she spends an uncomfortable amount of time staring at Fitz from across the table.

“What? Do I - oh, god, have I spilled again?”

A quick survey of his shirt and pants show an encouraging lack of marinara sauce, but Fitz grabs a handful of napkins from the dispenser between them just to be safe before digging back in. Because Jemma has the _best_ timing in the world, she waits until he’s mid-swallow to finally speak her mind.

“I think you should ask Mack out on a date.”

Needless to say, he chokes.

* * *

He's standing at Mack's door, hand poised to knock and heart tripping out of his chest from a mixture of excitement and nerves that only gets worse when Mack opens the door before Fitz actually gets around to knocking.

It should be awkward. It should be incredibly awkward, because they’re just _staring_ at each other, but really? It just feels nice to be looking at Mack and to have Mack looking in return. Still, there’s a reason Fitz is here in the first place, and it’s not the kind of thing one can express via staring contest alone.

“I don’t love Jemma,” he blurts out - it’s out of his mouth before he can reformulate the thought into something prettier and Fitz just wants to _kick_ himself because he needs to do better. “I- I mean, she’s my best friend in the whole world and I love her, but I don’t know if I ever… _loved_ her? Oh, I’m ruining this… just pretend this nev-”

Mack pulls him into his arms before Fitz can finish the sentence, and Fitz allows himself to sink into the embrace. He feels safe with Mack, has for a long while - there’s a moment where Fitz realizes that he could love Mack… that he probably _has_ loved Mack for a long while.

It’s not the obvious love that he harbored for Jemma - affection, infatuation, the need for a constant in the midst of these ever-changing times.

No, what he feels for Mack… it’s subtle. It’s a quiet love. The kind that sneaks up on you and it feels so much like home that you don’t necessarily realize that you’ve arrived. Of course, then you realize, and it’s like all the lights have gone on at the same time and you can’t believe that you missed something so obvious.

You’ve been home the whole damn time…


End file.
